It's All In Your Head
by KipperMay
Summary: Sometimes, dreams can be more real than when you're awake. Just hope they're not nightmares. Miranda POV, R&R!
1. The Dream

R&R!!! Oh, and I SUPPOSE the characters of Lizzie McGuire don't belong to me. Poo.  
  
Running. I'm running across an endless plain. Nothing, I can't see a thing. The world is around me is black. Who am I running from? I can hear their footsteps behind me, pounding loudly, and their loud panting. My chest burns, and I feel like I'm dragging weights, but I push myself on. I can't let them catch me. I can't let them catch me, I chant silently. Why won't they leave me alone? Suddenly, out of nowhere, something trips me, and I am sprawled on my back, the wind knocked out of me. I try to crawl backwards, away from whatever is now growing closer. My heart pounds wildly. It looms over me, breathing hard. Despite the darkness, I can almost see its chest heaving as it leans down toward me. I can't move . . .   
  
Suddenly, I'm sitting up in bed, bathed in a cold sweat. Moonlight streams onto my bed spread, illuminating my room in a splash of eerie light. I look around, terrified, the back of my neck burning, but I see nothing. Just my room, as it's always been. But something's not right. This is the fourth night I've had this dream, each time ending in the same place. My heart is still pounding. That's it, I decide. I'm going to tell someone in the morning. I sit awake for the rest of the night with my lamp on, trying to slow down my heart and figure out who I should tell. 


	2. Telling Gordo

I walk down the hall at school in the morning. My mind is racing. Who can I tell? I see Gordo shutting his locker and   
walking toward me, waving. He's smart, runs through my mind. I can trust him, and he'll know what it means. I grab him by  
the arm and pull him aside. He frowns at me, confused.  
  
"Something wrong?" he asks, putting a hand on my shoulder. For a moment I am lost in his eyes. Their clear blue almost drowns me. But then I remember why I am here with him.   
  
" I've been having this dream." He nods, and I can tell he's listening. He barely blinks while I recount my dream--nightmare, whatever. Finally, when I'm finished, he stands there and stares thoughtfully into space. He looks at me.  
  
"I'm not sure what your dream could mean, but I'll do some research if you want. Tell me if you have it again, okay?" I nod, and he smiles. " Let's get to class."   
  
  
I have the dream again. It scares me more every time. In the morning, I see Gordo sitting on the steps outside of school. He is pale, and beads of sweat coat his forehead. He stares at the ground. As I get closer, I can see that he is trembling. I sit next to him, grabbing his arm.  
  
" Hey. Are you all right?" He jumps, startled, and looks at me. He takes a deep breath, like he's going to say something, but just shakes his head. "What is it, Gordo?"   
  
"I--I'm not sure. I don't know if you dream just got to me, or what. But--" He shuddered.  
" I had the same dream you did." 


	3. Just Like The Others

The dream again, only a little different. Gordo isn't at school today. I look everywhere for him. Lizzie is confused.   
  
" He's sick. Why are you so desparate to find him?" I shake my head, and sit nervously through school, tapping my foot  
and not really paying attention at all. Finally, when school lets out, I say a quick goodbye to Lizzie and run to   
Gordo's house. Run. By the time I reach his door, I am breathing hard and I have almost dropped his homework.  
I ring the doorbell, and, again, wait impatiently for the door to be answered. Finally, Mrs. Gordon pulls open the   
door.   
  
"Oh, hey, Miranda, are you looking for Gordo?" OF COURSE I'M LOOKING FOR GORDO. Yeesh.  
  
" Yep." Mrs. Gordon smiles kind of nervously.  
  
" He's upstairs, but I don't think he's quite up to visitors. He seems pretty sick." My heart flaps in my chest.  
  
"Thanks." I run past her and run upstairs, skipping steps. I pound on his bedroom door, and wait for about five   
minutes. He doesn't answer, so I knock again, and I hear a faint reply.  
  
" Come in . . . " I push open the door to see Gordo lying in bed, his face pale and feverish. He slowly pulls himself   
into a sitting position, smiling faintly, when he sees me. " Hey." I smile.  
  
" Hi. How are you feeling?" He shrugs.   
  
" Not great. I had the dream again. How about you?" His voice is faint, and worry for him builds up inside of me.   
I put a hand on his shoulder, frowning.  
  
" Yeah, I did, only it was a little different. What's wrong with you?" He ignores my last question.   
  
" What was different?" It's my turn to ignore his question.  
  
" What's wrong with you, Gordo?" He shakes his head.  
  
" Flu or something. I'm not quite sure, but I didn't feel sick until I woke up this morning. It's really weird,   
Miranda, like . . . so sudden, you know?" I know exactly, but I don't say anything except to reassure him.  
  
" Gordo, I'm sure you just caught the flu. I mean, you're fine! Here . . . look, I brought your homework so you're not  
behind when you get back to school tomorrow." I pull out his books. When he doesn't answer, I stare into space, or,   
rather, at his book cover. It's covered in little doodles of comic book heroes and cartoons. I look up, and he's  
watching me. His hair is damp from sweat, brushed aside off his face, and he's smiling. I blush, and hand it to him.  
" Um, here's your math, and here's your social studies. You really didn't miss much, I mean, a quiz in science, Mr.   
Pettus said that he'd give it to you tomorrow, and he'll still give you full credit, okay? And, um, here's--" He puts   
a hand over mine, and I look up at him.  
  
" I'm not going to school tomorrow." I frown at him.  
  
" What are you talking about? Of course you're going to school tomorrow. You have to, you're fine . . . " He just   
shakes his head, and looks down at his covers. "Gordo--" I try again, but he shakes his head and won't look at me.  
  
" Um, I think I'm going to try and get some rest. If--when--I don't show up at school tomorrow, will you get my   
assignments again? I really appreciate it, and--" I cut him off as I stand up.  
  
" Sure, yeah, no problem." He still doesn't look up. He is paler than I have ever seen him. His lips are almost blue,  
and I can see the sweat beaded on his forehead. Finally, I leave.   
  
What have I done? I know that it's my fault he's sick. I shouldn't have told him my dream. This happens to everyone!  
And I know why my dream was different. As I stand outside Gordo's house, I am filled with sadness. What if he   
continues along the same road as everyone else I've told my dreams to? I pray and pray that he's different as I walk  
home. 


	4. What if...?

The next day he's not at school. I figured as much. Again, the day crawls slowly by as I wait for class to get out. At lunch, Lizzie says she wants to come with me to Gordo's today. I shake my head.  
  
" Um, he's really sick, and I'm pretty much just bringing him his homework, then leaving." She frowned.  
  
" Do you not want me to?" she asks, looking hurt. I can't help but roll my eyes.  
  
" Lizzie…you can come if you want, be we can only drop off his books and leave. No way we can stay and talk." She blinks, apparently not expecting me to give in.  
  
" Okay…thanks!" I shrug, and finish my lunch.  
  
Finally, school ends, and I gather Gordo's assignments. We head off to his house, Lizzie chattering and giggling the whole way. I make a few half-hearted replies, but my mind is on Gordo. My heart pounds with apprehension as we near his door. What if I killed him, like all the rest? The question echoes in my mind. What if I killed him? Mrs. Gordon lets us in, and we head upstairs. I don't bother to knock, because I am so worried. I quietly move over to his bed, Lizzie right behind me. He is asleep, still pale, but no worse than before. But he is also no better, I remind myself. I shake him gently.  
  
" Gordo," I whisper. His eyes flutter open, and he sits up, dazed.  
  
" Hey, guys." Lizzie smiles.  
  
" How ya feeling?" He shrugs, and glances at me.  
  
" The truth, or a reassuring, yet totally made up reply?" Lizzie considers.  
  
" Both. Reassuring, yet totally made up reply first." He smiles slightly, looking so frail and weak that I want to throw my arms around him, hold him close, make him feel better.  
  
" Um, I feel a lot better." He looks at me again, takes a breath, and continues. "The truth is, I feel terrible." He falls back on his pillows with a sigh. " Much more terrible. I'm going to school tomorrow, though. I really need to." I frown.  
  
" Are you sure?" He looks up, confused. My heart breaks at his face. Even his eyes, those clear pools of cerulean blue, look lifeless and dull.  
  
" I thought you wanted me to go." I nod.  
  
" I do. I just…want you to get better." He shuts his eyes, smiling.  
  
" I will. I'm gonna get some sleep, okay? See you guys later." I certainly hope so. We leave quietly.  
  
What if I killed him? What if I killed him? 


	5. Dead??!

Lizzie studies me as we walk to my house.  
" What's with you?" she asks. I shrug, not looking at her.  
"What are you talking about?" I reply, glancing back toward Gordo's house.   
" I mean, jeez, he's just got the flu, Miranda, and you're acting like it's his last day on Earth." That's because it probably is, I think to myself.   
" I'm just worried, that's all. Sorry," I mutter. She sighs.  
"Okay...whatever you say, Miranda."   
  
That night, I sit in the dark, refusing to sleep. I'm afraid of what my dream will tell me. As I slowly drift into sleep from sheer exhaustion, I see Gordo. It's my dream again, except that now Gordo is running from the shadow. I can see panic in his eyes as he runs. His face is pale, and I try to shout to him, to reach to him, but I can't move, can't make a sound. He falls, and screams as the shadow overtakes him. Suddenly, I can move, and I run over to where he was, but he's gone. He's gone . . . .   
I sit up, grab my coat, pull on shoes, and climb out the window. I've got to get to him, he can't die, I won't let him, I tell myself. I run to his house, sneakers pounding on the quiet sidewalk. I reach his door, but decide to go to his window. I climb a tree, open his window, and slide in. He lies on his bed, his face pale and illuminated by moonlight. I shake him gently.  
"Gordo, Gordo, wake up!" He doesn't stir. I touch his cheek and shiver. It's ice cold. What if I killed him? 


	6. Shouldn't I?

I shake Gordo desperately, feeling tears well up in my eyes and blurring my vision.  
"Gordo, wake up! Please!" His eyes suddenly flutter open, and he starts to cry out, but I slap a hand over his mouth. He stares at me, his eyes confused and scared. Finally I move my hand, sit on the bed next to him, and hug him tightly. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. He pulls away and looks at me.  
"For what? What are you doing here, anyway?" I shake my head.   
"This always happens," I mutter. He persists, even though the last thing I want to do is talk about it.  
"What?" I sigh, and look at him, wondering how long he will live. They all die, I think, what makes him different?  
" Whenever I tell someone about my dreams...it...kills them. I don't know how, but...it must haunt them. But when I don't tell anyone, they get worse, and haunt ME. I don't know what to do, Gordo, I don't think I can take it anymore!" He hugs me then, and when he pulls away his expression is sympathetic.  
"Miranda, think carefully about what you're saying to me. You're saying you kill people with your dreams? That's not possible, okay? I think that you're blaming the deaths of people you loved on your self, and in turn blaming your dreams. So you have bad dreams. If you tell someone, that person will probably have it on their mind when they go to sleep, and then they'll most likely have the same dream. Dreams can't kill people, Miranda, they just can't." I stood up, feeling a little angry.  
"You don't believe me? Look at you! You're really sick, Gordo, whether you want to admit it or not. And don't you go all psychiatrist on me, you know I hate that! And...and...it's my fault and I'm so sorry you have to die this way." Just as the words leave my mouth, a strange thought flutters through my head. He's going to die anyway, so I might as well just put him out of his misery...shouldn't I? 


End file.
